In Which There Are Two Men
by Yesilian
Summary: A series of drabbles containing fluff and UST that in the end will definitely be resolved.


AN:

I had a shit day and needed fluff to calm me down, so here you go.

This is laid out as a 5+1 of fluff and UST, but I haven't written everything yet, it will probably get updated when the mood strikes me. All chapters can be read on their own.

* * *

"Sherlock, can you help me, please?" John yelled from the kitchen. Reluctantly Sherlock went to see what it was he wanted. He _had _said please.

"What is it?" he asked moodily. John stood in front of the cupboard, hands on his hips and head tilted backwards.

"I can't reach that jar. Why'd you put it up there?" he pointed to a jar on top of the cupboard, far out of reach for him.

"Don't we have a ladder or something?" Sherlock looked around, swearing he had once seen such a thing. When he didn't find it immediately he went into the hallway to look in the chamber there.

"Sherlock, what are you..." John said dumbfounded, "Can't you just reach up there?"

"How will you learn to help yourself if I just do it anytime you need something from the top shelf?" Sherlock's voice was muffled and the sounds of him digging through boxes and junk could be heard.

"It's not here," he said at last, coming back into the kitchen and looking ruffled and confused. His eyes settled on John accusingly.

"I know. You broke it two years ago in some ill-advised experiment," he rolled his eyes. "We never replaced it."

"Why would we do that?" Sherlock was genuinely bemused. "We should have a ladder. You're too short to reach the top shelves!"

"Oi!" John interjected. "Ta very much. Now, could you just, _please_, hand me the damn jar!"

"This is a waste of my time." Sherlock shook his head.

"I've asked you five minutes ago, if you had simply done what I've asked of you, you could have been back lazing on the sofa ages ago."

"I'm not lazing, I'm thinking." Sherlock's pronunciation had taken the crisp tones he always used when he was annoyed. They were just entering an epic stare off when all of a sudden Sherlock's eyes started gleaming alarmingly.

"What are you," John started but was interrupted when Sherlock spun him around and grabbed him, his hands on his ribcage and went on to pick him up.

"What wait, Sherlock," John wiggled under his hands, "that tickles!" He jumped away, out of arms reach, already breathless from suppressed giggles.

"You can't just lift me," he said trying for a reprimanding tone that was disrupted by the barely concealed smile on his face.

"Why not?" Sherlock closed the new distance between them with a step, crowding John against the counter. John looked around him, wary of a new attack and searching for a weapon. His hand inched in the direction of the tap.

"I'm not a child, for one. It's humiliation, it is, you know," he said as his hand closed around the tap. Sherlock's eyes twitched to his fingers.

"You wouldn't," he threatened.

"Try me," John shot back, grinning fully now. It was a moment while their gazes were locked onto each other's, each waiting and trying to preëmpt whatever the other planned.

Sherlock was first. His hands shot out, tickling John's side and John erupted into loud shouts of laughter. He tried turning away under his grip and turned on the tap, splashing the cold water with his hands behind him, hoping he'd hit Sherlock. Judging by the sounds he made, John had succeeded. It wasn't enough, though, as Sherlock hadn't let go of him, brushing his fingers under his shirt now, viciously tickling his skin. John grabbed an empty glass in the sink and let it run full. He turned back around, fighting for a little space as Sherlock was practically pressed up against his back, and raised his hand with the glass over his head. Sherlock followed its path with his eyes and so John was able to pour the water directly into his face. Sherlock sputtered and stepped back, locking like a wet dog, eyes narrowed and brushing the water from his eyes. John tried to catch his breath, chest heaving with laughter.

Then Sherlock once more spun him around and grabbed him around the waist. The man was lightning fast, John had no chance as his feet left the ground and he was carried to the hall, kicking all the while and clawing at Sherlock's hands around his middle.

"Let me down!" he demanded.

"Never!" Sherlock said loudly. He opened the bathroom door and John's eyes went wide. His back was already uncomfortably damp where it was pressed against Sherlock's wet front, but this was something else.

"No no no, Sherlock, no, please, no," he said alarmed but it was to no avail. Sherlock let him down but kept a firm grip on his wrist and with his free hand he turned on the tap in the shower and in a flash pointed the shower head at John's face. He was hit with litres of water and dripping wet almost immediately. The water was icy cold. Sherlock let go of him and worse, started laughing, all the time still pointing the shower head at him where he was trying to shield his head with crossed arms.

"I hate you!" John shouted as he threw himself at Sherlock and started fighting for the shower head. Sherlock was taller, but John tugged at the hose. The water went everywhere, Sherlock was just as wet as John after a minute. It was getting slippery on the tiles and they had to be careful not to lose their balance during their fight and so clung to each other for balance which was very counter productive as all it meant was that they were so close that whoever had control over the nozzle to point it at the other, he was getting just as much water.

"John, stop, please" Sherlock shouted breathlessly after some minutes. John was reluctant to do so, he didn't trust Sherlock to stop when he did. But he let go and turned off the water and then blocked the path to the tap with his body. He looked at Sherlock, really looked at him for the first time since they'd started. He was dripping wet, his hair flat on his head and his cheeks and hands rosy with cold. John bet he looked the same. For a moment longer they stood breathing heavily, Sherlock's arms still raised where he held the shower head out of John's reach. Then, as if on cue, the men started laughing at the same time, deep belly laughs. Sherlock sat down on the toilet and John, figuring he couldn't get any more soaked, sunk down against the wall to sit on the wet ground where the water stood a centimetre deep.

"Shit," John wheezed. "You're cleaning that up." His eyes went huge. "The kitchen!" he gasped and struggled to his feet to sprint back. The water was still running in the sink, but it hadn't overflown, thankfully. He turned it off and leaned over the counter to catch his breath. How could he be this breathless, it was just a little wrestling?

Behind him he heard Sherlock's wet footsteps.

"I warn you," he told him before turning around to look at the man. He looked innocuously enough, which, knowing him, was not a good sign.

"What are you planning?" he asked warily.

"Nothing," Sherlock smirked. He went over to John and demonstratively got onto the heels of his feet to, finally, fetch the jar John had wanted all along. He handed it to him. "There you go." His eyes were still twinkling mischievously.

"Oh, thanks, the thing I've asked you _ten minutes ago_!" But John's heart wasn't in the chiding. Sherlock leaned forward and brushed the dripping fringe out of John's face. He let his hand lie over his ear as the said, "You should get out of those clothes, John. You'll _freeze_," before he stepped out of his personal space. He spun around _glacially _and John couldn't help but feel it was for his benefit as he wasn't able to reign his eyes in that wandered over Sherlock's body where his wet clothes clung to him tightly like a second skin. He shook his head and forced it upwards, looking anywhere but at the man's butt.

"Where are you going?" he yelled after him.

"Bed."

"What about this mess?" Sherlock stopped and looked over his shoulder at him.

"It's _water_, John. It will dry." There was another sparkle in his eyes, or maybe John only imagined it, but there was something before Sherlock continued, "I must get rid of these clothes and warm up in my bed. Naked." And he winked at him before turning around. _Winked_. Sherlock had winked at him only once before. And he wasn't talking about being naked then, and already it had been immensely seductive, but now?

"I suggest you do the same. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold, would we?" And then Sherlock was gone, into his room and for the love of him, John couldn't hear the door latch.


End file.
